


Thanks for everything, Jeeves.

by virginie



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virginie/pseuds/virginie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeeves and the unexpected maritime event.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanks for everything, Jeeves.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lamardeuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/gifts).



> Thanks to Mice1900 for the fast and fabulous beta! (Any remaining mistakes are my own.)

The complete sequence of events by which Mr. Wooster and I became marooned on a tiny island in an unpopulated tropical archipelago is not something I wish to dwell on at length. Suffice it to say that in order to evade a matrimonial stratagem of Mr. Wooster’s Aunt Agatha (and the strikingly robust physique and humourless mind of the intended) Mr. Wooster felt a trip to the nether region of the colonies was desirable. To be precise: Australia.

Adding fuel to the conflagration was Mr. Wooster’s fascination with the legend of Ned Kelly (whom he felt had never been plagued by an Aunt), and my own hankering to glimpse the vast interior, untamed coastline, and unique flora and fauna of the Antipodean Continent.

I prepared for an immediate sea voyage.

A brief misunderstanding with a porter resulted in the loss overboard of several of Mr. Wooster’s recent sartorial purchases, but other than that small tragedy the sun initially shone on our little endeavour. We crossed the North Atlantic without incident and arrived in the Americas.

It had been my belief that upon reaching New York Mr. Wooster would yield to the pleasures of the city, secure that he had found a harbour safe from blood relations, and give up the rest of the journey. But it was not to be; the haunted look remained in his eye, the furrowed line upon his brow. I urged him to forge ahead, and toward us fate set its matching course.

We crossed the interior principally by rail, and launched into the Pacific from San Francisco.

As we steamed out of the great Bay I stood on the passenger deck and gazed ahead. The vast and unknowable ocean lay azure and lazy in the sun. The dear words ran through my mind. _Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold._ I glanced down at Mr. Wooster standing next to me, equally lost in thought.

His familiar profile caught the wind, his hair whipping into his eyes. I felt a strange and terrible longing to gently smooth it away, and stayed my hand only with the greatest effort of will.  

Sensing he was moments from desiring to hear the Keats, I gave him what I safely could.

“Like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes, He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men, Look'd at each other with a wild surmise— Silent, upon a peak in Darien.”

“Thank you, Jeeves.”

He spoke quietly, caught as I was by the beauty of the moment. Secreted in my breast was my own wild surmise, my own epiphany. I felt that a dagger had struck between my ribs.

_

The Dawn Princess was a sturdy vessel, her lines gracious, and her passenger population generally agreeable. As America receded, the unwelcome impressions of inflexible Aunts and encroaching fiancées finally faded from Mr. Wooster’s mind. His visage daily betrayed an ever-lightening spirit, his step gained spring, and he inevitably attracted the attention of several of the younger ladies aboard, and their observant parents. Within a week he was entangled again.

I regret to report that my mind was so occupied with the problem of plucking him from this latest liaison (not only was Miss Julia Fotheringham-Smythe in many respects unsuitable but I had my own deplorable reason for wishing him to remain free) that I failed to notice several events of a catastrophic nature. When I abruptly realised the ship was foundering in an unfriendly ocean and went in search of Mr. Wooster, I slipped on the water soaked deck and hit my head, losing consciousness instantly.

_

I lurched awake into failing daylight, dimly aware of arms clenching me painfully around the chest, my body numbed, my head repeatedly drenched, and a voice crying _Jeeves, Jeeves, Jeeves_ into my ear. I began to panic and thrash in the water, my clothes clogging my limbs, utterly overwhelmed by the pounding, drowning ocean.

“Jeeves, Jeeves, _please,_ I thought I’d lost you.”

The familiar voice was strained with terror. I forced myself to be calm and still.

In the midst of the raging ocean Mr. Wooster was holding me up, his long legs treading water behind me, barely keeping us afloat. I strove to help him and we came up an inch or two in the water. As we rose and fell on the terrifying swells I scanned urgently for the ship or other passengers. Through the waves I could see the outline of an upturned lifeboat.

“Sir, there!” I spoke loudly, above the roar of the sea. I struggled to turn in his tight embrace and saw mortal fear in his eyes. I gripped his shoulders firmly for a moment, trying to impart strength and certainty I didn't feel myself.

It seemed to take hours to reach the boat, and our progress through the waves was exhausting. I know not how long Mr. Wooster had kept me afloat, but I had noticeably more remaining strength than he. After a while I held him across his chest as he had held me, rolled him onto his back in the water, and propelled us together towards the boat with my longer legs and my right arm.

When we finally reached the capsized boat we clung to it for a few minutes to regain some semblance of strength. Then with one final agonising push we succeeded in righting it. I helped Mr. Wooster clamber over the side and dragged myself in after him. He had collapsed between the seats. I searched and found a bail attached near the stern and gave it to him. Wearily he nodded, pulled himself into a sitting position and began bailing water out as fast as it was coming in from the swells.

Other than a coil of wet rope, and two firmly tied down oars the boat was empty. I searched the waves from our better vantage point in the near darkness, looking for survivors.

I saw a dark huddled shape floating in the distance, and gaining Mr. Wooster’s attention I explained my intention. He captured my hand and held it fast, nodding.

Although the swells had quieted somewhat it was still too rough to try rowing, and I feared to lose the oars. I wearily sank into the water and swam towards my goal, looking back regularly to check the position of the boat and Mr. Wooster above the swells. His pale face was the only thing in the heaving world that made sense.

_

“Good morning, sir.”

I spoke quietly, fearing to wake the sleeping mother and child.

Mr. Wooster’s eyes opened, and with a tired groan he pushed himself up on his elbows on the sand, meeting my eyes and then turning to check on the others. The child was sleeping folded into the arms of her young mother, their clothes and tangled hair drying in the soft early morning sun.

“How’s the weather today, Jeeves?” He attempted his normal jocular tone.

“Decidedly clement, sir. No evidence of last night’s storm. The bowl of the sky is innocent of clouds, and we have a light breeze coming from what, due to the position of the sun, I estimate is the south west.”

I ceremoniously passed him the bail. I had detached it from the boat after we landed just before dawn. The others had walked a safe distance from the surf and collapsed in utter exhaustion on the sand. Mindful of our bodily needs I had foregone sleep to search for fresh water as the world grew light again.

He took it gratefully and drank a few mouthfuls, careful not to spill a drop.

“Should we wake them?”

“The stream is just a few yards behind us among the palms that line the beach, sir. It’s a moment’s work to fetch more water when they wake.

“She told me her name is Molly. And the mother’s name is Nell I think.”

“Miss Margaret Ash, and Mrs. Eleanor Ash, sir. Mr. Ash lost his life in a coal mining accident three months ago. ”

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Mr. Wooster looked down at the sleeping tableau and back up at me, stark sadness in his normally sunny gaze. I felt certain his thoughts had turned to Miss Fotheringham-Smythe.

“You’re thirsty, sir. Please finish the water.”

He drank the rest of it now, more carelessly. Drops slid down his throat and soaked into his drying white shirt. He was head to toe covered in sand and salt, his clothes wrinkled, damp and unsalvageable. As was I.

“There may be other survivors, sir.”

At this a martial spark came into his eye.

“We are alone on this island, sir. It took me a scant half hour to perambulate while you slept. But there are islands in the distance on either side of ours running North and South. I suspect we are part of an island chain. It may be that we were not the only ones fortunate enough to find land last night.”

He sat up, suddenly impatient, brushing the sand from his hair.

“It's a rum do, isn't it Jeeves?"

"Decidedly, sir."

He put out his hand and I helped him to his feet.

"Right ho, then. What should we do?”

_

Together we built a shelter under the trees from fallen branches and palm fronds hanging low to the ground. When Miss Margaret and Mrs. Ash awoke we moved them out of the now scorching sun and into the shade.

They shyly watched as Mr. Wooster and I attempted to learn the art of breaking open the hard shells of the coconuts that littered the island using a sharpened stick wedged into the ground. I had seen diagrams of the required action of course, but it took us some time to master. When I produced the miniature steel penknife I carry in my inner pocket in order to properly sharpen the stick, Mr. Wooster’s face lit up.

“I say, Jeeves! You are a marvel!”

After several hours of trial and error in the hot sun we feasted on warm coconut milk and flesh we scraped out with my knife.

Refreshed, Miss Margaret and Mr. Wooster began to gather fallen wood from the small patch of tropical forest covering the raised fertile ground at the center of the island. Our intention was to build a signal fire. I set myself the painstaking task of creating the fire itself with the ancient and disagreeable method of two sticks.

Mrs Ash busied herself in making a fishing line out of the lace sewn into her petticoat, and a hook from her hatpin. She skewered on the hook a species of tropical slug and enthusiastically waded into the shallows. At my advice she kept her boots and stockings on, to protect against stepping on poisonous fish.

“I’ll be back from market soon, Mr. Jeeves. Will the stove be hot?”

Her accent betrayed her humble origins. We smiled at each other. She looked regal in her mourning black, framed by golden water, her brown curls loose and shining.

“Certainly, madam.”

She laughed. After the death of her husband she had heard of work on the vast sheep and cattle stations in the Australian outback. She had dreamed of sun and freedom in a new country. I had wished her well during our conversations on the Princess. I could scarcely believe that just hours ago I had held her whole future in my hands.

I laboured over my sticks, and as the sun began its plunge towards the ocean I finally succeeded in sending a spark into a small pile of tinder, the lit tinder into twigs, and the burning twigs into an airy lattice of wood.

I straightened my bent back and gratefully stretched my arms above my head. Turning to catch sight of Mr. Wooster I caught him watching me. He knelt down by the fire and began carefully adding to it from the pile of wood he and Miss Margaret had collected.

The sadness was still in his gaze and I felt wretched for him. I had tried to give him hope but what I truly feared was that we were the only survivors. It was likely that his betrothed was forever lost, and in a style more permanent than I could ever have conceived of.

_

That evening we ate unevenly roasted fish and drank coconut milk in our shirtsleeves with our two lovely companions. Miss Margaret had made a flower arrangement to adorn our outdoor dining room. The tiny star shaped red and orange flowers and trailing vines looked very pretty as they spilled out of the bail onto the sand.

Mr. Wooster’s wrists and nape had caught the sun, his white shirt was soiled by the search for wood, and his hair ruffled and stiff with salt. I found myself unable to fault his appearance.

He directed his open smile in my direction. “Anatole himself couldn’t have produced anything more perfectly delicious, Jeeves.”

“An overstatement, sir, but one I am in full sympathy with.” We gazed at the purpling sky and the fading trails of gold on the horizon.

I spoke again, unable to restrain myself. “It’s the setting, sir, and the pure joy of being alive.”

“The old joie de vivre? By Jove Jeeves, you’re right. I haven’t felt this bally alive since being caught stealing a policeman’s head protector!” He laughed to himself and then caught my gaze again, a strange depth in his eyes.

Our eyes held. I felt myself to be under some sort of spell, unable to look away. Thankfully, Mrs. Ash sighed, breaking the moment.

“It is beautiful here,” she said quietly. “Not what I was expecting when we boarded the Princess, not at all. But I’m so grateful to be here with you Mr. Wooster, Mr. Jeeves. I didn’t say it properly last night, so thank you.”

Her voice broke and she looked down at her daughter, asleep in her arms. Both their faces were round and rosy in the firelight, but tears hung on the mother’s lashes. None of us would ever forget the long vigil of the night as we clung together in the boat until the waves finally calmed, and then rowed for hours towards the distant string of clouds that signaled land and hope. And the brave woman had held on in the water for an age before that, keeping her daughter alive, alone and terrified, until we’d found them.

Mr. Wooster gallantly rose, took the sleeping girl gently from her arms and carried her into the shelter.

“Good night, Mr. Jeeves,” she said to me as she slowly got to her feet and followed. She stood framed in the opening of the shelter with Mr. Wooster for a moment, smiling up at him. “Good night Mr. Wooster.”

“Good night.” We spoke as one.

Mr. Wooster stepped into the open and looked ruefully at our misshapen jackets where they were draped over some branches.

“Not very important now, are they Jeeves? Jackets, I mean. Garments. Fripperies. The trappings of c.”

“Indeed, sir.”

He came and sat next to me where I leaned against a palm trunk, his legs stretched in front of him on the cooling sand as mine were. Our feet were bare and our skin bathed in the warm firelight.

I longed to offer him real hope that his betrothed might be found.

“Sir.”

“Yes, Jeeves?”

“I propose we leave our new friends to watch the signal fire tomorrow and row to the first island to the north. I estimate a journey of an hour, with a further hour to search for survivors. If we are methodical we should be able to cover several islands in the day. Over the course of a week I think we can thoroughly search all the islands in this area, sir.”

He huffed impatiently, and rubbed his hands over his eyes.

“I’m bally concerned for all our companions, Jeeves. All of them, Julia, and her esteemed parent – yes – but everyone else on that dashed boat too.”

“Of course, sir.” The dark look was now firmly lodged in his eyes, the furrow on his brow.

“And I enthusiastically endorse your wheeze of seeking out survivors on our neighbouring islands. I sincerely hope we find them.”

“Miss Fotheringham-Smythe is a fierce young woman, sir.” I coughed discreetly. “She’ll have had an excellent chance against those waves.”

He fell silent, staring out at the blackening sky. He seemed lost in thought, perhaps attempting to recall some evasive lines of poetry.

“I have a confession to make, Jeeves. And somehow it seems easier to make it here on this little island, latitude and longitude a mystery, black tie optional, our feet stirring free of the old shoe stirrups, and Aunts but a painful memory.”

“Sir?”

His dear face was shadowed and hard to read. “Amidst the confusion, the contretemps if you will, the whole bally catastrophe of the ship sinking and what not…”

“Yes, sir?” He seemed to need encouragement.

“I believe I thought only of you, Jeeves.”

My breath caught. He looked up at me and rushed onwards.

“You see Jeeves, most of the lifeboats were lowered in a timely and professional fashion. Everyone caught a lift, certainly Julia and her parent, certainly the women and children, certainly the gentlemen and ladies of, shall we say, _maturity._ Except, not _actually_ everyone, Jeeves. On the whole it was the spiffy first class population, if you can divine my subtle meaning. The milk of human kindness seemed to be sorely lacking in those totting up who got a leg in and who didn’t.”

He looked back down at his hands.

“I jumped overboard. I was on a lifeboat and I jumped overboard because I couldn’t find you, Jeeves. I wanted to see your noble face once more. I wanted the world, the spinning ball, the planetary surface so to speak, to continue to be thoroughly graced by you.”

I swallowed.

“The whole lot of them are probably living it up on the very next island, Jeeves. But, do you know what? I don't care a coconut.”

He met my eyes again, his own shining with love.

He must have sensed what I found myself unable to say because he got up onto his knees and sat astride me, bracing his strong thighs over mine. His hands came down to rest on my shoulders, his face stopping mere inches above mine. My back was against the palm and I was effectively trapped.

“Sir?”

“Shhhh.” He leaned down and kissed me gently but firmly. Once, twice, three times.

Then, satisfied, he clambered off and stretched out again, leaning his back into my chest. I wrapped my arms around his dear warm body, and rested my face in his salty hair, breathing in his scent.

An unbearable sweetness filled my heart and mind.

“Thanks for everything, Jeeves,” he whispered.

“Thank _you_ , sir.”


End file.
